


New life

by MadDogMajima



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-16 00:16:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13624515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadDogMajima/pseuds/MadDogMajima
Summary: A hunter comes to a secluded village to take care of the pest that has been plaguing the land, but her intentions might not be so straightforward.





	New life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [antheeia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheeia/gifts).



> The idea for this story came to me while I was riding my train home. I just HAD to take my notebook out and WRITE WRITE WRITE because the plot bunnies were just so strong. It's just one of the greatest feeings ever.
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful antheap for teaching me how punctuation works in English <3

The village mayor peeked anxiously over the open grave. Was he afraid the creature would rise again, in broad daylight, with the afternoon sun shining bright in the cloudless sky? Yet fear was irrational, Tavia thought, and the old man had maybe stopped being aware of his surroundings as soon as the two of them had stepped inside the unkempt graveyard.

“There,” she announced, clapping her hands to get rid of the dust.

From the ground above, the old man gazed uncomfortably at the bare skin of her forearms and at the drops of sweat that drenched the back of her neck. For those who had embraced the Good Reform, the source of all evil was to be found in young people’s ‘relaxed attitude’, which included sexual misconduct and apparently the impertinence of rolling up one’s own shirt sleeves after spending half a morning and then some afternoon digging up a grave, all during the hottest day of the year. The mayor’s well reformed attitude had also prevented him from lending any help. He’d called it ‘religious impediment’, she’d bet her left ear on laziness and bigotry.

“And you keep wondering why the Great Council only allows worshippers of the Greater Reform to run for the Knife.”

“Did you say something, Miss?”

“I said here it is. The coffin of the creature that’s been terrorizing your village. I’m opening it.”

It didn’t take long, with her crowbar and the last of her exhausted arm’s strength. The name hastily carved on the headstone read _Lule VeRore, born 1520_ died three days before, just in time to see the dawn of her nineteenth birthday and be taken away from her loving family by an unforgiving illness.

Despite the pathetic attempts to drape her body in the most ill-fitted white gown Tavia had ever laid her eyes on, the illness looked indeed unforgiving, a most terrible case of child-in-belly. Deadly especially if the loving family wasn’t too keen on having a sinner and her spawn at their dinner table. Poor Lule.

The mayor, in a late fit of respect, touched his forehead then his lips with two skeletal fingers. His wrinkled face had been spending decades baking under the sun and unruly lumps of white hair spluttered in random patterns across his scalp made him look way more dead than the girl lying in the coffin. At least her expression was peaceful, despite the bloating of her body and the sunken eyes.

Tavia wondered if she’d ever been so serene while she was alive, but for now there was no way to ask her. Lule was far gone, her heart had grown wings and those wings helped it fly into the arms of the Saviour. So far gone, in fact, that she would not rise up to haunt her frightened, screaming fellow villagers or to feast on their blood, and she most certainly never had.

“Have there been any casualties?” she asked, for the third time that day, but the mayor wasn't listening to her. Instead, he pointed his finger at the corpse in the coffin, a triumphant look on his face.

“I knew it! I read lots of books, you know? And I learn. These eyes of mine still work perfectly.”

The old nails and hair trick. Lule's golden locks looked like they'd grown an inch, same for the chewed nails.

Tavia was disappointed when it had become common knowledge, and a little bit scared. If those ignorant villagers really put their heart into it, they'd discover that after a day or two every corpse's nails or hair would be longer than the day the poor souls had been buried. Things would escalate quickly, there was no way they'd listen to the voice of reason, blinded by their superstitions as they were.

She fumbled with her leather belt and unfastened the cord that kept her steel knife in place.

“I mean look at that hell spawn. All night, every night, poor Saviour fearing people, men and women I've known since they were this tall, they've been haunted, stalked even, by her. Someone has seen that horrible face peering through the windows, other have been chased!”

“So. No. Casualties. Right?”

“That's what I've been telling you! Isn't it your job to pay attention to our cries of help?”

“The Greater Council sent me to get rid of the pest, not to listen to the ramblings of Good Reformers with too much time on their hands.”

Judging by the man's face, one could have said with absolute certainty that Tavia had stabbed him with her knife. She didn't give him a chance to catch his breath.

“You were right to call on the Council, infestations escalate quickly. But for tonight, I'll have to warn your villagers even though I'll be putting an end to this in a few minutes. Understood?”

The man nodded. He was studying her, trying to recall where he'd seen her face, the sharp line of her jaw, the small, straight nose, the green, elongated eyes under thin eyebrows. A newspaper picture, maybe? Or was it only someone who greatly resembled her? Perhaps a parent?

“Understood?”

Disbelief, eyes widening, dry lips parting. Tavia grinned. _Yes, old man, my mother sits on the Great Council and won't let go of her golden staff anytime soon_.

“Yes, of course, Lady...”

_Oh, when I got down from the carriage you didn't even bother to ask me my name and now I'm a Lady?_

“Noctavia Lidgett-Vouters, of Crimson Water Estate.”

“I-I'm sorry my Lady, I couldn't possibly know, please I beg of you to get rid of this pest for the sake of our villa- What's that for?” suspicious as ever, the old man fixed his gaze on her stretched out hand. Every trace of servility had disappeared from his voice.

“First, the money.”

“But surely a proud member of the Knife would not-”

“This proud member of the Knife did not force you to adhere to the Good Reform and then stick to it. Be thankful the Great Council agreed to send me here because our rule is pretty clear when it comes to helping others, no matter what.”

The bank cheque slid into her hand, while the old man rambled about how mistrustful the younger generation had become, and how back in his day boys and girls used to respect their elders. Not a word about the Council, Tavia grinned, he wouldn't dare to go that far.

She took her time checking every detail of the numbers a trembling hand had carved, rather than written, on the piece of paper. Name, amount, signature, code, back again twice. When her arms started burning and her head felt like it was on fire, Tavia decided it was time to go back to work before risking a stroke.

“That's fine. I will perform the ritual to keep the creature where it belongs. After tonight, she will not rise from the grave to kill your own.”

The cheque disappeared in her belt pouch “Will you watch?”

“Good Grace, no!” the mayor signed himself.

Typical.

Tavia sat on the edge of the coffin, trying to ignore the familiar smell emanating from the body. There were many things to be said about corpses, and most of them were true. However, 'she looks asleep' must've been born from embarrassed funeral guests who lacked the courage to shatter their loved ones' delusions. Dead people looked like that, dead. Wax statues as sculpted by some mad artist, and that was when they still bore a vague resemblance to a human being.

Lule didn't have that luxury: her whole body was bloated from the heat; a pin would prove enough to make it burst. Her face must have been cute, beautiful even in a childish way; yet now, swollen, purple lips were like dead maggots resting on top of a weeping, infected sore. The dark circles around her sunken eyes created a stark contrast to the greenish pallor of her skin.

The hands, peeking out of a white, virginal dress sewn for a woman three times her size, were so bloated they could belong to a noblewoman on the verge of dying because of her own gluttony. And yet it was all useless, nothing could conceal the new life that was growing inside her.

“I'm sorry, Lule.” Tavia caressed her arm, felt the delicate, smooth cloth under her fingertips “You're going to be in a better place soon.”

“Are you done down there, my Lady?”

She sighed.

“I'm praying. Do you wish to interrupt my Prayer to Salvation?”

“Of course not, I'm sorry,” She was sure the man had taken a step back and signed himself once again “But if you don't mind, I'm going to speak to my fellow villagers and be back in a few moments.”

_Yes!_

“I don't mind at all.”

She waited until the footsteps disappeared towards the gate. Her knife was already out, but a mere pull was enough to detach a generous amount of hair from Lule's bruised scalp. It was brittle, dry, it looked like it would turn to dust at any second; Tavia wasted no time tucking the lock of blond hair in the secret pocket sewn on her shirt, hidden behind the deep red corset.

“Now I've got something yours,” she whispered, barely parting her dried lips. The scorching hot hair hung heavily on her shoulders, drenching her white shirt with sweat. The brown, wide skirt gave little comfort to her bare legs.

She stood still for a moment, to check if the mayor was still gossiping about her uncovered arms or had decided to keep her company again. No sound from above.

“Now it's time you have something mine.”

Emotional scenes in romance novel always skirted around that part, merely forcing their protagonist's voice into a silent gasp. Truth was, if numbing powder weren't so expensive, she wouldn't think twice about rubbing her skin with a generous amount every time she performed the ritual. Unfortunately for her, it had to be done, and fast.

With a swift movement of her hand she lifted her skirt to uncover a pale leg and the heavy cotton bandage wrapped around her right thigh.

“Here, here...” Slow and steady, while infinitely more painful, was much more preferable to quick and improvised, because slow and steady had less chance of resulting in infected and dead.

This time, she only had to stop twice to catch her breath before thick drops of blood started dripping down her skin. She caught some with the flat surface of the knife, steel stained with shining red. It was enough.

Tavia lowered the medicated bandage on the cut, bit her lips as the foul-smelling concoction seeped through her wounded skin. It was the worst part, but it was necessary if she wanted her leg to heal properly and to stop the blood flow so no one would notice. She wiped sweat from her forehead, her hair a tangled, damp mess.

“I give you what's mine, this is my prayer: that what's mine and what's yours will reunite and bring us together again. This is my wish and my desire, nothing more I will ask for.”

With a firm, precise thrust of her wrist, Tavia stabbed Lule in the chest, right where her heart had stopped beating three days before. The blade cut through skin and muscle in silence until only the decorated hilt stuck out.

“Nothing more I will ask for, but to be reunited with what's mine.”

She stood up, and thanked the humble sobriety of the villagers in building their eternal beds. A bunch of nails and a good hammer were more than enough to close the coffin once again, even though by the time she was finished her head was dizzy and her cheeks burned.

“Are you done, my Lady?”

_Just in time._

“I trust you have enough strong men to fill this grave up.”

“Of course, of course. Let me help you.”

 _Of course not._ Tavia climbed up alone and unaided, but by the time she was on her feet again she had barely enough strength to keep her body from tumbling down again. The heat was taking its toll on her, she had to drink something soon.

“You must be tired, my Lady, please come with me. My people will provide proper refreshments.”

_Here we go again._

Forget the cut, that was the worst part, the part that made her sick to her stomach, even more than touching weeks-old corpses. Once the threat was extinguished, once the danger was over, the less educated her clients were, the more morbid curiosity filled their glistening eyes. The old man was no exception.

“You know, my Lady, this is the first time we have someone as illustrious as you in our humble village. But do tell me, did you cut her head off?”

“As a matter of fact, the most recent studies advise against suck a barbarian practice. The centre of all human evil is the heart, and besides, even a sinner needs their own body intact if they wish to petition for the Saviour's mercy. I trust even your Good Reform books taught you about such a need. The Saviour is always ready to forgive.”

The mayor nodded vehemently. They paced through old tombstones, almost white under the afternoon sun, and unkempt patches of grass. Tavia scratched her dry throat to keep her hands from her thigh, where the heat was making the itch unbearable. She wanted to be done with all of that and go home, take a bath, drink some tea.

Everything, but face the swarming crowd of villager who was waiting for her just beyond the graveyard gate. She scanned their faces, brown and burned, their ragged, colourless clothes, to look for a hint of guilt or anything to point her to whoever had killed the poor Lule. She found only empty stares and whispering voices.

A young woman, as colourless and ruined as the rest of them, stepped forward. She must have been about Lule's age, but her hair was straight, a dirty shade of blond, let loose on her shoulders and down her back. She kept her gaze down, on the beaten flower bouquet she was holding so tight her knuckles had turned white. The whole village held its breath.

“We...” she stuttered, with her thick accent “We are most thankful for your help. For saving us and...”

Tavia wondered if she was victim to the same criminals who reduced Lule in that state, who were now maybe looking at her from a distance, trying to find out if the corpse had raised any suspicions.

“We would be most glad if you were so kind as to accept our humble gift and spend the night in our company.”

_Thou shalt not conceive a new life out of the sacred bond of wedlock._

The Greater Reform interpreted that passage as an imperative to avoid conception or put an end to it as soon as possible, but according to the Good Reform conception must never be given a chance to happen. And yet, Tavia realized only when the girl stretched out her hand to give her the flowers.

She was the gift. She was the company Tavia was being offered for the night.

Her teeth bit down, hard. Her sore lips were a reminder to stay calm. That slaughter was not a solution, not after she'd managed to get a Good village indebted to the Great Council.

“I am sorry, but urgent matters keep me from accepting your generous offer, which would surely have exceeded my expectations.”

The girl shot her a glance, a hint of a smile surfacing on her lips. She was grateful. To be spared or to be deemed worthy, Tavia couldn't say.

“But it is very important that I depart at once and be at my residence this late afternoon. However,” she took a deep breath “You are a devout folk, I'm sure the Scriptures have no secret hidden from you, with the exception of the Saviour's unyielding love. Such is this love, that he grants everyone the choice to repent, to ask for forgiveness and come into his eternal embrace. This is true both for good people and for criminals, and also for the pest we call creatures of the night.”

Someone in the audience gasped. Tavia scanned the crowd for any sign of fear, because a person or two, or even more, must have already imagined what she was about to say. She adjusted the wrinkled ribbons that struggled to keep her hair away from her face; her uncovered forearms grabbed the attention of a few bigoted elders.

_If you only knew I'm not wearing stockings._

_And dear Saviour and his Divine Grace, the cut itched._

“After tonight, your village will be safe. Because the Saviour will have decided what to make of Lule's poor soul. But tonight I must compel you to lock your doors, bar your windows, stay awake and pray. Most of all, pray. I will do the same in the way of the Greater Reform.”

And there it was, the seed of doubt, the proof of an insufficient faith. Not in her, of course, but in the Saviour. They had always been so pious, so spotless, how come the God they worshipped every morning, night and Fifth Day would rather give unrepentant sinners the choice for forgiveness than preserve their lives? Why was a creature of the night more important than one of their own?

“Because the last won't be stopped from becoming the first, and the first must pray for the salvation of the last. So be it,” she signed herself, and everyone followed, dutiful as ever.

In their eyes, she had just got rid of an impending menace, but she wished they lived in their fear delusion a little longer, maybe their whole lives. But for now, there was nothing else she could do but put as much distance as possible between herself and that wrong, wrong place.

***

With the warm drops from her bath still drying on her skin, Tavia sipped her tea.

Against her better judgement, she insisted on drinking it hot, even though the evening was just as unmerciful as the afternoon. Which meant that, even with every window open, she often glanced at the fireplace to make sure no one had set fire to the dusty logs while she wasn't looking.

The sweet taste of peaches filled her mouth as the scorching hot brew made its way down her throat.

The fine china of the teacup, decorated by expert hands with a joyful pattern of roses and daisies, was chipped in two points. She should've thrown it away a long time before, but every time her lips brushed against the uneven surface, her mind was filled with her daughter's face, a mask of surprise and amazement at the greatest discovery of her life: not everything is a toy and not everything will remain intact after you toss it around, no matter how innocent your intentions were.

“You're thinking about Lissa.” The old woman sitting on the sofa in front of her raised her head from her needlework. Under her quick fingers the pillowcase was turning into a happy family of ducks swimming in a murky pond on a bright spring day. Despite the heat, she was wearing her usual, mourning attire: a black gown buttoned up to her chin, with puff sleeves and at least three heavy skirts, one on top of the other. Tavia had always suspected that if it weren't so inconvenient she'd always keep her velvet gloves on, too.

“Are you worried about her, Noctavia?”

Rhode's hand stopped working, the pillowcase resting on the her lap.

“She's got her father and she's got Nat to take care of her education. When I was away and my father here I'm sure he went through the same emotions and survived.”

“Barely, my dear. Knowing you, barely.”

Tavia laughed. “Aren't you going to the Church meeting tonight, Rhode? I'm sure the priest will be thrilled to have you as his guest.”

Rhode never laughed. Instead, her pale, wrinkled face allowed her lips to relax just a little bit. She was amused, but her next remark looked too much like a warning.

“If I were you, I would keep a stricter eye on that creature. I trust your judgement because without it I would not be here today, but dear... It was a long, long time ago, but I've been twenty-four, too. I know how strong the pull of lust is, how it can effortlessly blind you.”

Tavia took the last sip of her now lukewarm tea and her lips curled into a smile. “That's why I say he'll be most happy to see you there among the lost sheep.”

Rhode grinned. “You want me to spy on him for you, or do you want to be left alone tonight?”

They were always so perceptive.

“Both, as much as you're dying to share the last cooking tips with the other grandmothers.”

Rhode lifted a hand to cover her lips. That was a step beyond laughing.

“Noctavia, love, I come from simpler times. Back in my day you had very limited sources of entertainment, and those are the ones I'm still used to. Besides, I enjoy some gossip every now and then. So, I shall be going. I suppose I can take the carriage?”

She stood up, tall and elegant, and used her golden pin to fix her silver braid around her head.

“Of course. Remember the walking cane.”

“Sure, my dear.”

Now a good two inches shorter and with a small but noticeable limp, the woman slowly reached the living room door.

“I'm right to believe we'll be welcoming another guest tonight?”

“Would you be happy, if that were the case?”

“Why, of course. Good company is always welcome.”

***

Tavia walked around the room, her long, silky vest following her uneasy pacing from the fireplace to the bookcases to the open window and back again. New moon outside, the stars shone bright, each in their spot, forming the same, reassuring constellations. The night had plunged her family's mansion into darkness, and the faint light of the oil lamp just outside the front door could little against it. The park was invisible, reclaimed by crickets, cicadas and beasts hunting their prey with their smell rather than their sight.

Tavia scratched her leg, where the itch was beginning to fade after she had replaced the medicated bandage and applied her doctor's salve. The centuries-old clock above the door stroke nine. She removed the ebony comb from her hair and let it down, a cascade of chestnut waves with a few spurts of grey.

Being awake half a night, then the whole day and half a night again worked wonders for her headaches. She massaged her temples, more and more intensely as her nervousness grew. Too long, it was taking too long.

Then, three loud knocks broke the silence.

Tavia ran to the entrance hall, grabbed the key, unlocked the door, got it open.

The smell of rancid blood hit her nostrils so hard and unexpected she retched. Before her, illuminated only by the gas lamp, a girl stood straight, with the stillness of a creature not yet used to masking as a human being. A bundle of old yet clean rags was huddled up in her arms.

Although her dress was drenched in dark blood from the hem of the skirt to her hands and sleeves, the girl's face shone brightly by the lamplight. Blonde hair, cascading in perfect curls was the perfect frame to a round face, a pair of big, blue eyes, a small nose and deep pink lips. Blood encrusted her pointy chin.

Despite being the fifteenth time she gazed upon one of her newly born creatures, it always ended with Tavia's mouth and eyes wide open at the wonder of her own creation. A being of the night, beautiful and immortal, in all her predatory glory.

“I believe this is yours.” The girl's hand opened to reveal Tavia's knife, carefully wrapped in white cloth. It had been cleaned, it smelled faintly of cheap soap. Tavia took it, while with the other hand she was offering the girl the lock of hair she had taken from her coffin.

“And this is yours. I give it back to you and our deal is over. You're free.”

The girl tucked the hair between her body and the baby's, for it was a baby she cradled in her arms, plump, with pale cheeks and his mother's hair.

“Hello, Lule. You took your time.”

She frowned.

“Have I inconvenienced you?” her voice was a whisper, sweet and soft as warm honey.

“Are you satisfied?”

Lule did not smile, but her gleaming eyes told everything she needed to know.

“Then I'm not inconvenienced in the least.”

Lule was cradling her child, her gaze now set lovingly on his sleeping, peaceful face. His lips were stained with blood.

“What happened? I was hit on the head, then everything went dark, and then again I heard your voice. I was out of a grave, and my child was crying, he was hungry, so hungry... The priest always spoke of you, people who woke the dead instead of killing those who had risen from their coffins, but... why? I wasn't one of the beasts, was I?”

Some accepted their fate. Some had wanted to die. Some again wished to be free and to run away. Four chose to stay. But no one had ever asked questions, on their first night. She had been right when she had chosen her.

“No, Lule, you will not become one of those savage beasts, neither will your child.”

There was an innocence in her eyes that made Tavia's chest ache.

“I brought you back because I firmly believe that some people deserve a chance for a better life, whatever it may be. Lule...” The girl tilted her head and looked at her. “With you giving me back my knife and me giving you back your hair our pact has ended. How do you feel?”

She took a moment to assess her situation. “Stronger. I drank their blood and broke their necks without too much effort. Faster, too. I don't know how much distance there is between my village and your home, but... And I can see better, hear better, and my smell is... I traced you thanks to your scent, I'm sorry I don't know any other way to say it.”

Lule was perfect. She had skipped the first part of every creature's new life; she was curious but not confused, unused to her new body yet not clumsy. She could kill. She'd had enough self control to stop once her revenge was done.

She was ready to survive in the outside world, Tavia thought. She pressed her lips together, wondering if just for once it would be okay to skip the next part.

“Am I alright?”

“You're more than alright,” she breathed. “More than alright. You could turn around and survive on your own out there. What do you want to do?”

“I don't understand. You saved me and now I owe you. It's of no importance what I want to do.”

“Your debt was paid when you brought me back my knife. Now you can choose to leave, and I swear not me nor my family will do you or your child harm for as long as we live, or if you prefer I can return you to the eternal darkness. Or...” her gaze shifted on the sleeping baby, “just him.”

“Oh, no!” Lule hugged him tight. “He's innocent. He's the most innocent one in all of this. You said I deserved a second chance, and I think he deserves a second chance. Will he grow up?”

“If old accounts are anything to go by, he'll grow, albeit slowly.”

“Oh, that's nice to hear,” Lule paused, again deep in thought. She was pouting, looking up at the black sky as if trying to grasp something just barely out of her reach. Adorable, curious and deadly.

_She'd make a great spy._

“There's a third choice, isn't there? That we stay here with you and I repay my debt. What can I do for your family? That's why you brought me back for, right? To serve you.”

“No, not to serve me. To help me. To be part of our family.”

“What's your goal then? And why someone like me might... help?”

Tavia wasn't ready for the string of questions Lule was mercilessly throwing her way in that sugary voice of hers. It had never happened, not on the first night. She was used to dizzy creatures struggling to balance their new, heightened senses, suppressing their lust for blood, barely speaking. She was not prepared and her head ached.

But she wanted her. To keep her, to train her and to send her back into the world just to see her come back with what Tavia had asked of her.

“The Great Council believes your race is a pest to be eradicated. Our family was born out of thirst for knowledge and we reject an authority that expects us to blindly follow orders. We wish to know, to understand, to find the answer to humanity's oldest and most important questions. We kill beasts and raise conscious beings, higher beings like you to aid us in this mission. You're not the only one and you're not alone.”

The creature's eyes glistened, and this time her lips parted into a wonderful, sincere smile that brightened her whole face. A warm breeze had taken up, and the fair waves of her hair looked alive under the lamplight.

“A new life, a new meaning, a quest...” she whispered to herself, then to the baby still peacefully asleep in her arms. “Not the only one, and not alone...”

She moved a lock of hair away from the child's face, caressed his cheeks and forehead. Then, she held out her bloody hand, dirt and flesh under her nails.

“I'm so sorry for all the dirt... But this is how you do it, isn't it? We can do it later if you want.”

Lule's hand was soft despite the blood, icy even in that summer night. Tavia ached to hold her, tight, keep her close, even kiss her on those full lips, feel the sharp edge of her fangs on her own tongue.

“Now's perfect. You're perfect. Welcome home, Lule.”

 


End file.
